Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  The fact that she was thinking such thoughts brought Drea up short. She wasn’t the type to notice others’ worries. Or at least she didn’t used to be. Just go and ask her sister. Drea almost snorted with the thought. But she had an excuse. She liked Mrs. Betty. Sure, she didn’t know her much past her aunt and the few conversations she’d had with her upon visiting the old theater up the street she ran with her late husband. But she liked the eccentric older woman all the same.

  Drea made herself busy then and thought about Mrs. Betty and her husband as she remembered them just a little over a month before. Even at their age, they’d made quite the pair. She a petite, curvy, brown-skinned beauty. Mrs. Betty wore her silver hair in a short and stylish curly bob that flirted around her cheeks and chin. Her husband was tall and slim, though all at once a broad-shouldered and imposing man in a way that could be called, she was sure, dashing in his day. He was fair-skinned with brown eyes with surprising hints of green that never failed to surprise Drea upon seeing him. They were whimsical eyes for a man she thought could easily command so much distinguished power. That was until he was foiled against his wife, and then Mr. Henry was nothing but softness and smiles as he tucked an errant curl behind her ear, or more outlandishly, was dressed in one of the costumes she’d gotten him into for their Redheart movie theme nights.

  Drea smiled, then felt a pang tug at her heart. She’d sure miss their theme nights over at the Redheart. So far, the Redheart had been her one constant form of entertainment in town outside of Jolie’s Bar and Grill, and goodness knew, too much of Jolie’s ribs and Joy Juice didn’t do her any good. Better she spent her evenings out with an old movie, a tub of popcorn, and a soda as her indulgence. Not Joy Juice, mechanical bulls, and smooth-talking Southern boys. She’d left her versions of all that back in the clubs in Manhattan.

  Besides it wasn’t any hardship for her to do a solo movie night instead of a wild club night, though the fact annoyed her cousin Rena to no end since she’d got it stuck in her head that now that her cousins were in town from New York, it would be a girl’s night whenever she could secure a sitter and a night away from her children. Poor fun-loving Rena. After just a few nights out with her, both Drea and Olivia decided they could hardly keep up and opted for more sedate, genteel pursuits.

  It wasn’t any skin off Drea’s teeth, though. She’d come to Sugar Lake to recharge her batteries and regroup after so many disappointments. Spending the evenings in the Kilborns’ darkened theater had come to mean solace for her. And there was the added fact that Drea loved the surprise of seeing what the Kilborns would decide to screen for the next week. Crazily enough she’d found herself looking forward to it and their wacky costumes on top of it.

  But since Mr. Kilborn had passed, the theater had been shuttered. She could hardly imagine Mrs. Betty continuing those theme nights without him. Half the fun of it was the two of them and what movie characters they would dress up as. Mr. Kilborn was always so quiet and reserved in his demeanor; she didn’t know what it took for his wife to get him in those wild getups, but the fact that he did it, week after week, showed his obvious love for her.

  Once again, Drea had to swallow back a sigh. Did love like that even exist anymore? Or was it dying off quickly with the likes of men like Henry Kilborn?

  Drea gave Mrs. Betty a smile that she hoped revealed none of her inner thoughts. “Well, company reflects the company it keeps is what I say, and you are always outstanding company. It’s great to have you here today.”

  It was then that a small crash sounded from the kitchen area. Both women looked up at each other in mild shock and Drea pulled an embarrassed face as she heard softly muttered curses coming from her normally mild-mannered sister. She gave Mrs. Betty a raised brow. “Well, it seems duties are calling me out back. I better go and check on my sister. If you don’t mind excusing me, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Mrs. Betty nodded. “No worries, dear. I’ll be right here.”

  Though to Drea it didn’t seem like anything major, you would’ve thought that Olivia’s eggs not peaking was a total disaster, right up there with missing a Century 21 sale, but to each her own, Drea thought. After quickly talking her sister down and letting her know that there was a customer out front when her little tirade went down, Drea went back out to join Mrs. Betty. Heck, it wasn’t like she could help out back there. Get an egg to peak. What did that even mean? she thought as she headed back out front.

  Once again when Drea looked out, Mrs. Betty seemed to be deep in thought. But this time her mind wasn’t wandering—at least, it didn’t seem that way. No, Mrs. Betty was intently reading some papers that she had spread on the table in front of her. Drea could tell by the furrow of her brow that whatever she was reading had her distressed. Goodness, she hoped the woman wasn’t in some sort of financial trouble.

  Drea nibbled at her lip in worry. That didn’t make any sense. Though her husband had died quite suddenly, through what she’d gathered from all the town’s talk, the family seemed to be well-off. The Kilborns didn’t just own the theater, but also were pretty big landowners in town and expanding in more areas in the real estate game—but then again, who knew with town gossip. Either way, Drea thought as she openly stared at Mrs. Betty, something had her seriously troubled, and the fact that the woman was here dealing with it all alone at a table in the town’s bakeshop didn’t sit well with her.

  Where was Mrs. Betty’s family? Drea knew she had a grandson, the so-called business whiz and odd boy wonder, as the townsfolk told it. She’d heard he as of late had been running the family business, groomed by Mr. Henry to be his successor. As to other family, she didn’t know much further than that. But why was this woman reading all these documents herself? Where was the young business genius when his grandmother obviously needed him?

  Drea had stopped by the repast to pay her respects after Mr. Henry’s funeral and didn’t see any glimpse of the grandson. She would assume he’d been there, but it was a mad crush of people and she’d only gotten to see Mrs. Betty briefly. The crowd vying for Mrs. Betty’s attention and the fact that she was indeed needed at the shop during that time made it so that she could only stay long enough to give Mrs. Betty a hug before heading back to work so her Aunt Joyce could stay and help her friend out.

  Just then Mrs. Betty looked up from her papers, feeling Drea’s gaze, and gave her a weak smile. Drea felt her cheeks warm at being caught staring. She walked over and picked up Mrs. Betty’s cup. “Let me freshen this for you.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Betty said. Putting the papers in her hand down, she started to look around the shop as if just seeing it for the first time.

  Drea cocked her head to the side, then walked away with the cup. Upon returning, she noticed that Mrs. Betty was giving her quizzical eyes.

  Drea frowned. “What is it, Mrs. Betty? Would you like another biscuit too? I’m sorry, I should have offered.” She started walking toward the back.

  Mrs. Betty shook her head and stopped her with a cool, outstretched hand. “No, dear, not now. But I will take a couple to go on my way out and probably some peach pecan pie; you be sure to set that aside for me. Don’t you go and sell out once it gets busy in here again.”

  Drea was about to walk away when Mrs. Betty’s voice stopped her again. “I was just thinking. . . .” Mrs. Betty paused. It was so long that Drea wondered if that was the end of the thought. But, she reminded herself, remember she came in for a reason. She’s not home because she’s lonely and needs someone to talk to. Drea smiled and patiently waited.

  Finally, Mrs. Betty continued. “It looks so lovely in here. I remember your aunt remarking on the fact that the changes were all due to your keen design eye.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mrs. Betty. I can’t take full credit for everything. This is a family business and family always pitches in where needed,” Drea said.

  Mrs. Betty rolled her eyes. “Come now, it’s just you and me and there really is no need to be modest. You did a love
ly job here. Between you and your sister, you both helped Joyce tremendously and turned the shop around. Your sister’s new recipes have been a wonderful boost to the menu, and you updating the shop has really brought in plenty of new customers. Ambience is everything. How one presents oneself and makes first impressions is always key. You know we’ve talked about that before. I daresay your New York style gives you an edge there. Not to mention your innate showmanship.” Mrs. Betty gave Drea a cute conspiratorial wink and it reminded her a bit of the spark and humor she’d shown in her former self before she’d suddenly lost her husband. She continued, “We know all about presentation and how important it is. You have got real talent, Alexandrea. I can see it.”

  Drea let out a breath. She didn’t mean for it to come out slow and long and breathy like it did, tinged with a hint of regret. But it did, and she couldn’t very well suck it back in. “For all that has done me. Oh well. It’s nice to be acknowledged by you. Thank you. I really appreciate it, Mrs. Betty.” Drea perked up a little; giving voice to her inner turmoil and then accepting the compliment for what it was worth felt nice. But then she took in Mrs. Betty again, looking at the older woman seriously. Drea’s eyes went from Mrs. Betty down to the papers strewn across the table. She now saw underneath the legal sheets what looked like architectural plans and designs. She remembered Mrs. Betty’s earlier furrowed brow. It all seemed like so much that the woman was taking on. “Mrs. Betty, is there anything I can do for you? I don’t mean to pry, but I saw you looking at those papers pretty intently. Can I help in any way? Do you want me to call someone for you?”

  Mrs. Betty stared at Drea, perhaps a few beats more than was comfortable, and she looked around the shop once again. She looked down at the papers, then back up at Drea and smiled, the rosiness in her cheeks now coming on naturally and not by her overly applied coral blush. “You know what, Alexandrea, I think perhaps you can. That is, if you’re up for a bit of a challenge.”

  Drea didn’t know what it was that made her nod in the affirmative. Maybe it was the blush of her cheeks or maybe it was the sparkle in the older woman’s eyes. Or who knows, maybe it was that morning and the wistful feeling of longing she had when putting away that darned Oh Honey Yes You May Pie, or maybe it was the idea of just being given another chance to prove herself, because not only did she nod, but she told Mrs. Betty yes.

  Chapter 3

  Who’s That Girl?

  Kellen Kilborn couldn’t believe he was currently pulling in to the Sugar Lake town limits. Well, at least he’d made good time, his black Mustang living up to its Bullitt name. Still, Sugar Lake was the last place he was supposed to be or wanted to be right now. Though just thinking the thought had guilt rising up in his throat. He swallowed it back and focused on where he was supposed to be. Where he was supposed to be was finishing his workout, then heading into his office to prepare for his team’s early morning planning strategy meeting to hash out the problems with the Ronson Property Group proposal. But where was he? Not in Atlanta but in quiet Sugar Lake for a strategy meeting of another kind entirely.

  All wordplay aside, he’d rather face an entire boardroom than his grandmother this morning. And it was still so darned early, the sun barely rising. She probably wasn’t even up yet. His grandfather was the early riser in the family. Kellen knew when his grandmother saw him pulling up at this hour of the morning her hackles would rise, and she’d quickly be spoiling for a fight. Sure, there was the off chance that he’d catch her groggy and off balance and use that to persuade her to see things his way, but honestly, with his grandmother’s cunning, those chances were slim to none. These negotiations were probably doomed before they were out of the gate.

  Still, here he was. But seriously, where else would he be? The cagey old woman would probably laugh when she saw him.

  Yesterday, he’d played right into her hand. He’d been so riled up getting her call just when he’d been pacifying Jamina Ronson about the Redheart not yet being signed over to the Ronson Group. He couldn’t tell Jamina that the delay was because of his grandmother’s stalling. He was thinking up another deflection right when his other line started to buzz. What in the world? Kellen thought. Where was Tracy, his assistant? There was no way this line should be buzzing while he was on such an important call. Tracy knew he wasn’t to be disturbed with Jamina Ronson unless there was a dire emergency.

  Suddenly, Kellen’s heart plummeted and a lump grew in his throat. Thoughts of the last emergency call, from just over a month ago, came flooding back to him. Oh God, he hoped there wasn’t anything wrong with his grandmother.

  The last conversation he’d had with her had been unusually terse for the two of them. His grandma was never terse, at least not with him. He’d never even argued with her before. Not in all of his nearly thirty years. Hell, Kellen rarely argued with anyone, preferring to keep his true feelings under wraps, thus never giving anyone the upper hand on him by revealing emotions. He had certainly never shown his grandparents anything but kindness and respect. They were the only ones in his life besides his parents to have ever shown him love, even taking him in after his parents died and dealing with him despite his stoic ways.

  The only thing he could remember ever having a disagreement with his grandmother about was not being more carefree and loosening up. But thankfully, she’d finally gotten used to his, what she called, “staid young old man ways,” and now considered it part of his charm (her words, not his).

  But their current argument had no charming side. The fact that Kellen could not get his grandmother to see clearly about the Redheart truly perplexed him. He didn’t understand her. The fact that they had a buyer for the old theater willing to pay over the market value for the property should make her happy. Yes, he understood that it was pretty soon after his grandfather’s death, but even if his grandfather was alive, he’d consider this a good deal and sell. There really was no longer any need to keep it open. It wasn’t like she could run it on her own. Letting it go was probably the best thing. Kellen sighed to himself and pushed down on feelings he wasn’t in the mood for feeling. Yes, it was for the best. All things considered.

  The time for whimsy was over and now was the time for decisive action. Especially if he was going to bring the Kilborn family and Kilborn Properties’ name into the future, he had to make the tough decisions.

  Suddenly, Tracy’s voice broke through over his intercom: “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kilborn, but it’s your grandmother.”

  Kellen startled and broke in over Jamina speaking, his heart now racing. “You’ll have to excuse me, Jamina. I need to cut our conversation short and take this call.”

  “But, um, what about the points we still need to go over, Kellen? Wait, how about we meet for dinner later in the week to solidify the—” she began, but Kellen was already halfway gone. He didn’t have time to hear her go on. He knew what she wanted. The Redheart for its central location and then after that more of Kilborn land for Ronson’s expansion into the Sugar Lake area. He got it. But that all depended on his grandmother and, right now, she needed him on the other line.

  “I’m sorry, Jamina, I’ll have to have my assistant get back to you,” he said, and clicked over to the other line. “Grandma?” Kellen asked, hating the thread of urgency running through his voice. “Are you all right? You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

  The voice that came back at him was by no means the sickly one that he was anticipating.

  “Don’t come at me with that ‘are you all right’ mess right now, young man. You know good and well I am not,” came his grandmother’s musical, though clearly irate, voice over the speakerphone.

  Kellen didn’t know who was more intimidating, his grandmother or Jamina Ronson. Wait, he did know; it was definitely his grandmother. Still, he couldn’t show fear.

  “So, I take it we’re still talking about the Redheart today, Grandmother?” Kellen rubbed his hand across his forehead in frustration. Maybe he should have stayed on the line with Jamina. C
learly, he wouldn’t be making headway with his grandmother, not in the mood she was in.

  “You know I’m talking about the Redheart, so you’d better come down quick off that hoity-toity business school voice of yours that you got going on right now and remember you’re talking to not your ‘Grandmother,’ but your ‘Grandma.’ I know you only call me that when you’re getting your shorts in a twist.”

  Kellen felt his lips tighten, which was probably for the best. Better to let no sound escape at this point, he thought as his grandmother continued. “I thought I already made it clear that we were not selling the Redheart, so I don’t know what I’m doing currently holding papers in my hand, waiting for my signature to sign it over to RPG. You must have lost what was left of your ever-loving mind if you think you can disregard my words so easily.”

  Kellen nearly winced at the anger in his grandma’s voice. Maybe he’d gone too far. But he thought if she just saw the prospectus in black and white, she’d get a better feel for it. “Of course I don’t think that, Grandma. I was just hoping that you could see my reasoning in this.” Kellen decided to make his voice more placid. He had to get her to see his way in this. There was so much riding on this deal.

  “Kellen, this is not up for discussion. Just like I told you when you were heading back to Atlanta after the funeral, which mind you, was just a few weeks ago—we’re not selling the Redheart.”

  He heard her let out a deep sigh, which let him know she was doing her “let me catch my breath and get my nerves together” thing. Kellen stood and rocked back and forth impatiently as he waited.